


Differences and Similarities

by emmaliza



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Aftercare, Anal Sex, BDSM, Comeplay, Dirty Talk, Finger Sucking, Gentle Sex, Imagined Gangbangs, Intercrural Sex, Jon is far too pretty and kind of needy, M/M, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Rape Roleplay, Referenced DP, Robb is just general-purpose slutty, Spitroasting, Theon is surprisingly repressed, Threesome - M/M/M, some character study but absolutely no plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-16
Updated: 2016-09-09
Packaged: 2018-08-09 04:04:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 18,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7786072
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emmaliza/pseuds/emmaliza
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jon, Robb and Theon all have a lot in common. But they have their differences too.</p>
<p>(Or, that fic where they're all hopeless bottoms, but in very different ways.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Robb

**Author's Note:**

> So, this fic grew out my thinking that the thing about this ot3 is that really, they're _all_ bottoms when you think about it (or like, when I think about it). Then, as I am want to do, I started overthinking things, and then it became massively wordy and deeply self-indulgent porn. Who'd've thunk it.
> 
> Er, I'm not sure when I'll finish the other two chapters - as soon as I can, but I have assignments to procrastinate on so *shrug*.

Robb's _thing_ was the first, it just appeared in their fucking and fumbling without warning, until Jon and Theon founds themselves surprised by the things they were doing – the things Robb was asking them to do. Perhaps Theon's always secretly resented Robb for that, how easy it was for him, how he never even had to ask before he was getting his brains fucked out just how he liked. From the beginning, fawning over Robb was the easiest thing to do. Theon thought it should have been him, older and more experienced showing the two virgins they ways of things, but that was never going to happen. Jon probably would have killed him first. Instead it played out the way things usually do, the two of them desperately competing for Robb's attention and Robb pretending to be oblivious to the fact, but reaping the rewards regardless.

 

Theon had been behind Robb's back, sliding his prick across his skin while kissing and sucking at his neck, while Jon stroked his cock frantically from the front, teeth dug into Robb's collarbone, looking up at him with big, wide, Stark grey eyes. Robb just threw his head back, and moaned at the pleasure of it all. Theon's hands on his hips were meant to keep him steady, but in the heat and sweat it wasn't hard for things to slip, for Theon to slip until his cock slid between the cheeks of Robb's arse, pretty and pink, and Robb only moaned louder.

 

He'd become used to running his mouth off while they did this, same as he did in every other situation, and they'd both just ignored him except for once or twice when Snow became embarrassed and snapped, “Shut up, Greyjoy.” Still, Theon didn't see any harm in talking. “You like that Robb, do you? Lordling likes my cock against his arse, up against his little hole?” Robb tensed, and Theon cursed as his tip almost caught in his entrance. “You want me to fuck you, I bet you do. Want me to take you like one of your bloody wolves, like a bitch in heat, is that right?”

 

Snow groaned. “Theon,” he warned, and Theon just smirked.

 

“If Robb wants me to shut up, he can tell me himself.”

 

“Theon,” Robb moaned as Snow jerked him harder. “I do. I want you to.”

 

Theon had been insulted, vaguely, as Robb gasped at the touch of Snow's hand. He was almost resigned to keeping his mouth shut (not something he's ever been good at), but Robb wasn't finished. “I want you to fuck me, Theon.”

 

He'd been surprised. Which, given how he'd just told Robb how he knew he wanted it, didn't make a lot of sense. There was no time to think about that though before Robb went on. “I want your cock in me, Theon. I want you to come inside my hole. I want you to leave me dripping with it. I want to feel you inside me the next day...”

 

“Robb,” Jon choked, biting his lip with a jealous glare. Theon smirked. Robb laughed.

 

“Y-you too, Jon,” Robb stuttered a little, and that's the closest thing to hesitation they've ever gotten out of him. “I want you both inside me, fighting over who can fuck me better, longer, harder. I want you to get impatient and take me from both ends, in my mouth and my arse, skewer me like a roast pig. I want–” Robb cut off with a cry as Theon fucked up against his hole, wanting nothing more that to plunge straight in and give Robb _exactly_ what he wanted, but not willing to risk it, not yet. “I want you both in me at once,” Robb whispered, and Theon thought he was ashamed for a second but no, his voice had just gone hoarse, “sharing my arse, pressed up against each other inside me. You'd have to get along then, wouldn't you?” He laughed again, and Snow hissed, biting at Robb's neck. “I want – I want the stretch of it. Feeling like I'll break if you fuck me any harder, but you just keep fucking me harder. And I love it, because that's what I'm for; I'm no lord, I'm no heir, I'm just a cheap whore you can put as many cocks in as you like–”

 

Robb shut up with a final moan, one that seemed to come from somewhere deep inside, shuddered its way through his whole body. Snow gasped as Robb's come splashed across his chest. Theon could only shake his head in disbelief, that the heir of Winterfell's mind and mouth were so much filthier than anything he could have come up with.

* * *

Robb leaves an afternoon sparring session early, claiming a headache (this makes Theon struggle not to laugh). Once Jon and Theon are done and Ser Rodrik lets them go, they return to Theon's chambers to find Robb perched on the end of Theon's bed, staring out the window inscrutably. He barely seems to notice when they come in. His face looks so sombre and stern he could be his lord father, or at least sitting in his lord father's chair, attending to the peasantry in ways far more dull than the ways he attends to them. Well, that is, except for the fact he's stark (ha) naked, cock red and swollen against his thigh.

 

Theon smirks as he kneels on the bed, coming up behind Robb, laying his hands on Robb's shoulders. “Have you been waiting long, little lordling?” he whispers, breath hot against Robb's ear. Robb shudders.

 

“Not as long as I was afraid of,” Robb says. Theon huffs. Well of course, hence why they found him naked, but still refined and composed, keeping his hands to himself. Usually Robb gets impatient, and they find him with one hand around his prick, the other sliding fingers inside himself – two or three, usually, but once four – moaning both their names. Theon remembers that time they caught him with a candle, and not one of the small ones he could have found by Theon's bedside, but something thick and sturdy he must have pinched from the Winterfell kitchens (Theon would never have gotten away with that, neither would Jon, but no-one could ever imagine precious Robb a thief and certainly no-one could imagine what he was thieving for). That was one hell of a sight, watching Robb fuck himself on cold wax like it was a cock, and Theon could hardly blame Snow for what he did, charging across the room to knock Robb's hand away so he could plunge the candle deeper into him himself. It had been a good night, Snow huffing like a wolf as he fucked Robb on an empty object, taking himself in hand until his seed splattered across Robb's spread thighs. Theon had smirked, as always, had teased and taunted until he did the same across Robb's face. Robb had just grinned once they were done, covered with their come. _I missed you two._

 

Theon takes a deep breath. Robb might forgive him if he doesn't last too long, but Snow will never forget it. “Lucky you,” he murmurs, pressing himself against Robb so he knows Robb can feel his prick straining through his breeches. “Lucky we just can't stay away. Not when we've got such a greedy slut waiting for us.”

 

Robb moans and Theon can practically hear him smiling. Jon's moved so he's standing in front of Robb, and Theon briefly catches his eye. He doesn't smile. _Even when he's fucking, he's bloody sullen,_ Theon thinks (but he knows that's not always true). Snow offers his thumb in front of Robb's face. “Suck.”

 

He does so without question, bobbing his head like a whore, trying to suck the thumb in deeper even as his lips brush against Jon's knuckle. Theon groans at the sight. Robb and Jon both _love_ giving head, and Theon only half-understands what they get out of it, but he's hardly going to complain about two pretty little things eager to suck his cock. Not that Jon seems like he's in much of a mood to do so tonight, no, for whatever reason his bastardly resentments have gotten the better of him, and he'll take it out on Robb who'll be just too willing to let him. Theon shivers, and tries not to think about it too much.

 

“You like that, Lord Stark?” he whispers, cock hard against Robb's backside. “You want your bastard brother to fuck your mouth? I'm sure he will, as long as you ask nicely.”

 

Robb pulls off with a gasp, tilting his head up to plead with Jon with his eyes (Theon almost regrets their positions. He loves Robb's eyes). “Jon, please,” he begs, but he sounds less vulnerable than you'd expect.

 

Theon expects Jon to go for his breeches, too much of a green boy to deny the promise of Robb's pretty mouth around his cock, but he skips that step, instead grabbing Robb by the hair and just forcing his face against Jon's crotch. Robb moans in shock and arousal, and Theon bites his lip as he watches. Robb fucking nuzzles against Jon's prick, breathing in the scent as much as he can. Snow's eyes roll back in his head as Robb opens his mouth, spreading his lips across the taut fabric, moaning as he sucks at the tip, unable to get any more through dry cotton, Jon's breeches becoming wet with precome and saliva.

 

Theon can't help himself, starts frantically tearing at his own breeches so he can pull out his cock, so he can spread Robb's arse with his other hand, slide his prick against that tight hole he knows is just aching to take him. Robb doesn't exactly keep that secret; the second Theon does it, he gasps, loudly, and starts thrusting his hips back frantically; Theon can hear him whispering _more, more, more._ “You're such a fucking whore,” he snarls, but he's not angry, he _loves_ Robb like this (he loves Robb). “Look at you, begging to be taken from both ends, aren't you?”

 

Robb pulls off Jon and nods, trail of spit connecting his lips, red as his hair, to Snow's wet breeches. Theon smirks. “What would your lady mother say?” he asks, and Robb groans.

 

Jon groans too. “Theon.” Snow has fixed him with a warning glare, and Theon's not sure what that's about, if it's because he's mentioned Lady Catelyn or because he's stopped Robb sucking Snow's cock or what. Then Snow casts his eyes to Theon's bedside drawer, and Theon rolls his eyes. _Oh. I wasn't going to forget, Snow,_ he thinks, even if up to that point he sort of had. It's not easy, pulling himself away from Robb's body long enough to go looking for the oil (luckily it's oft-used, so its easy to find) and he thinks he'll just have to fuck Robb harder to make up for it.

 

He turns back around and sees Snow has finally undone his laces, not that Theon can see what's beneath them, because Robb's already there, red curls bouncing as he fucks Snow's cock with his mouth and Snow urges him forward with a pale hand, deeper, even as Theon thinks there can't be much more to take (he's sure Robb would be gagging if weren't so well practiced). A strange wave of jealousy comes over him. Snow's prick is as pretty as the rest of him, Theon knows that, and it would be nice to see it. The same goes for Robb's mouth. Theon's not overly sure what he's thinking, so he decides his best strategy is not to think at all, and the best way to do that is to start fucking Robb is soon as he can. He's back at his back in a second, oil in hand but he can't pull himself away long enough to use it. “Slut,” he spits as he peers over Robb's shoulder, watching that those eager lips take Jon right to the back of his throat. “You can't help yourself, can you? When your lord father tries telling you about duty and responsibility and propriety and all that, all you can think about is having a cock in your mouth and a cock up your arse, isn't it?”

 

Robb groans, nodding once more. Jon's breath hitches, and Theon grins. Jon can't bring himself to speak to Robb the way he does, too much of a Stark, too honourable (too much Robb's brother), but Theon knows he likes listening to what he says almost as much as Robb does. “What would you do without us, little Robb?” he wonders. “I bet you couldn't help yourself. You need it too much. You'd be fucking every man in Winterfell, wouldn't you?” _Well, probably not your own father,_ Theon thinks but given Robb is currently sucking his half-brother's cock maybe he shouldn't be so sure. “Maybe you wanna do that anyway. What do you think, Robb? Just lay down on the table in the great hall and beg any man who walked by to have his way with you. You're such a cute little thing, I'm sure they'd say yes. I think you're so pretty they couldn't even bear waiting, they'd just crowd around you, shoving and pushing and grabbing, whatever it takes to get a piece. Do you reckon you could take more than two at once? I think you could. You've had us both in your arse before, and in your mouth. Could you take both at once, I wonder, four cocks in your holes, half of Winterfell waiting for their turn, fisting their own cocks so they'll come all over you; would you like that Lord Stark?”

 

Jon groans, long and low, and Robb is practically shrieking as he writhes in Theon's arms. Theon grins. It's the dirtiest fantasy Robb has, and also probably the stupidest – they all know it's impossible, truth be told; not even Robb's body could handle that. Even if he could, politics. It's one thing for the future Lord of Winterfell to debase himself in private, with two men he trusts absolutely (Theon's stomach always tightens slightly when he thinks Robb trusts him, _absolutely_ ) – it would be another entirely to do so with the whole castle. Some things have to be kept secret, and the fact Robb Stark loves being fucked like a back-alley whore is one of those. Still, Theon loves going over the idea, making Robb remember how much he'd like it. Maybe that's a bad idea, but he can't help himself (he knows he thinks about it too much when Robb's not here also). Sometimes he wonders what Robb would do if he and Jon weren't here.

 

He and Jon are both jealous types, that's another reason it would never happen.

 

Robb pulls off Jon, the hand in his hair letting go immediately as soon as Robb indicates he wants to break free. “Theon,” he says, voice practically choked out of him, “Theon fuck me. Theon I need it. I need your cock inside me...”

 

“I'm getting there, Lord Stark,” Theon smirks to himself. He can't help but be pleased Robb said _your_ and not _a._

 

Robb just moans as Theon finally pulls away, frantically opening the oil to dip two fingers in it. Maybe he should go slower, but he can't bring himself to, not with Robb moaning like that as Snow rubs his prick against his swollen lips, hips twitching with the urge to have something inside and be fucked. Theon doesn't even really think about it before he slides two fingers straight to the knuckle, and Robb cries out so loud that Jon pulls on his hair and slides his prick back between his lips to hush him.

 

Snow isn't looking at Robb though, he's looking at Theon; glaring, almost. _You're going too fast,_ Theon can hear his accusing voice, and he shrugs. “He can handle it,” he says, and immediately starts second-guessing himself. Robb _can_ handle it, Theon knows he can (he has had them both fuck him at once before), but it must hurt at least a little and while Theon knows Robb can take pain, he doesn't enjoy it. He tried once. Robb had been sucking his cock and pulled away, and Theon slapped him, hard across his face. Robb just glared in hurt and confusion. _What the hell was that for?!_

 

It had made Theon's grin falter. _I thought you might like it._

 

_I didn't._

 

That rather settled the matter.

 

As if reading his mind (or maybe Theon just let his fingers start hesitating), Robb pulls off, and laughs. “Theon,” he says, moan in his voice. “If you stop for a second, I will fucking kill you.”

 

Theon smirks up at Snow. Snow just rolls his eyes, grabs Robb by the hair again and starts fucking his throat, as if to prove a point. Theon thinks it proves another point entirely. _See, you like it as rough as I do Snow, just not when you're the one taking it._

 

Theon shakes his head. Now's not the time.

 

Theon curses as he feels Robb clench around his fingers, so tight he thinks they might break – really, Robb shouldn't be capable of that given how thoroughly fucked he's been over the past several months, but Theon's not going to complain. He has to be grateful for Jon's prick, because without it he's pretty sure half the castle would hear Robb moaning. It's a damn shame they have to be so secretive, because Robb sounds amazing when he screams in pleasure, and he knows that secretly Robb _wants_ everyone to know. Nothing gets Robb off like thinking everyone knows the heir of Winterfell is a slut, he and Jon both know that – they've had to stop Robb from drunkenly getting on his knees to suck them off under the dinner table before, which required more self-control than Theon ever thought he had (he did let Robb do it with his hands once, at a feast Snow wasn't allowed to, but he's not going to mention it). _We should go back to the cottage,_ he thinks. Theon's still proud of his find, an abandoned cottage in the middle of the woods where no-one would hear them. Jon and Robb had taken some persuading, at least until Robb was on his back, screaming. They started with Robb, because of course they did. They've been back there a couple of times, but it's been awhile, and Theon's not quite sure how to bring it up. He'll think about it later.

 

He finds he's slipped a third one inside Robb without even really thinking about it. Robb doesn't seem to be complaining, bouncing back and forth between the two of them, hands grabbing at Snow's thighs, his hips, his balls as he lowers himself again and again. _I wonder if Robb could fit those in his mouth too,_ Theon wonders, and resolves that one day he'll find out. Jon has gone bright pink, mouth hanging open in a shuddering, silent gasp, fist in Robb's hair pulling him down, again and again, until it's a wonder even Robb doesn't choke. Theon smirks. _He can't last._ He thinks about Robb's face, covered in come like he likes, and finds he can't hold out anymore, he has to fuck him.

 

Robb makes a surprised noise when Theon moves, spreading his legs around him, then pulling Robb down into his lap. Robb lets go of Jon, head left bouncing against his lips, dripping down his chin, and Jon shudders. “I'm gonna fuck you now,” Theon bites on Robb's earlobe, arm wrapping around his waist to take his cock in hand. “Going to make you scream like a bitch when I come inside you. You like that, Stark?”

 

“Gods, yes, Theon, fuck me, fuck me hard, I need it, you know I do, I need your come inside me–” Theon pushes in while Robb's in the middle of rambling, cutting him off. Pity. Still, the desperate gasp Robb makes as Theon bottoms out inside him does a lot to make up for it. It's not gentle, it can't be, not like this; Theon spreads Robb's arse wider with his hands, and it only takes about three thrusts until they find a rhythm, hard and desperate, Robb's skin smacking against his loudly. Theon groans and moans against Robb's neck, not sure how long he can last like this either.

 

Snow's hands are back in Robb's hair. “Robb,” he moans, pulling him onto his cock again. By instinct Robb goes back to what he was doing before, taking Jon right to the back of his throat. “ _Seven hells_ ,” Jon hisses as Robb sucks him, and Theon laughs at the thought of Lady Catelyn's face if she heard her husband's bastard dragging _her_ gods into his defiling her firstborn. As if Robb wasn't defiled long ago.

 

Jon's groan comes from somewhere deep inside him, and the sound of it makes Theon shudder and fuck Robb harder (if that's even possible). Robb makes a surprised noise as he's pulled away, left with only the tip in his mouth. Jon takes a moment, panting to catch his breath, staring hard into Robb's eyes. “Face, or throat?”

 

Robb shudders in delight, and Theon buries a smirk against his shoulder. This moment is always fantastic – the moment where Robb realises he loves come too much to know what he wants them to do with it. Swallow it all down, taste it at the back of his throat for hours, remembering every time what they did with him? Or to wear it across his cheeks and his chin, like a badge of honour, as long as he can get away with, and even if he cleans himself he can't be sure he won't miss a spot; that Lady Catelyn won't see something, won't say _Robb, you have something on your face,_ and then they'd both turn red as their hair as they realised. Fuck, Theon's really not going to last.

 

Once Theon watched Jon fuck Robb, touched himself, and just before he came he was struck with the strangest impulse. He grabbed an empty glass and finished inside it, and then once Jon and Robb were done he handed it to Robb, just to see if he would drink it. And Robb _did._ Jon and Robb both shivered with lust when that happened, but it slightly disgusted Theon. Sometimes _Robb_ slightly disgusts him. Not so much for what they do to him, but for just how eager he is about it, the way he moans, the way he begs. Theon knows Robb likes being treated like a whore, because he's the heir of Winterfell and he has too much pressure on him and his mother would die of shock, but sometimes Theon can't respect him any more than the actual whores he's been doing these things to for years.

 

But it's Robb, and Theon's never been able to deny him anything.

 

“Face. Please.” Robb eventually answers, and Jon nods with a stern frown, taking himself in hand and pulling back. Robb gasps, tilting his head back and closing his eyes in anticipation.

 

“No,” says Theon, closing his hand tighter around Robb's prick. “Open your eyes. I want you to see.”

 

It's not like he himself can really see Robb's eyes from here, but he knows how lovely they are, as lovely as Jon's cock. He wants them to be looking at each other went it happens. _And Snow thinks I'm selfish._ Snow is in fact looking at him with a raised eyebrow.

 

“Do you want to explain to Maester Luwin why he has come in his eyes?”

 

“No. You'd better aim then.”

 

Robb groans. “Quit it, you two.” And just like that, Jon and Theon are back under control. No matter how much Robb wants them to degrade him and treat him like a whore, it'll always be him in charge underneath it all. Still, they probably shouldn't go telling him that.

 

Theon claims victory, in his own mind at least, because Robb does keep his eyes open.

 

It doesn't take long. Jon bites his lips until they bleed to keep from moaning too loud as he jerks himself onto Robb's face. Robb doesn't think of any such thing; his mouth hangs open expectantly, great shuddering cries coming over him like waves as Theon fucks into him roughly. With some panic, Theon realises he needs to shut him up. He doesn't really think about it, just shoves three fingers in Robb's mouth, then groans as Robb sucks them as eagerly as he sucked Jon's prick. _You lucky slut,_ he thinks as Robb's greedy mouth almost pulls the skin from his hand, unable to to name the emotion the thought is laced with.

 

(Envy?)

 

Jon does moan when he comes, but its quiet enough that Theon doesn't really worry about it. Robb shakes all over, grinding his hips against Theon desperately, but he stays quiet. It's actually _Theon_ who's the loudest of them, feeling himself slide deeper into Robb, deeper than he thought was possible and he bites Robb's neck to keep himself under control. Suddenly he thinks of the Iron Islands, his family back home, and wonders what they would think of this for absolutely no fucking reason whatsoever.

 

_Well I've fucked over more Starks than they ever will,_ he thinks. _Namely two. Or one and a half._

 

Robb is fucking himself on Theon desperately, legs twitching with the effort as he licks Snow's come from his bottom lip. “Theon,” he begs around Theon's fingers.

 

Theon can't help himself; with his free hand he pulls Robb's head back and kisses him, desperately, biting and bruising his lips. He can taste Snow's come and knows it's smearing all over his face too, but he cannot bring himself to care right now (or maybe he does care, just not how he'd like to). Robb moans into his mouth and Theon wonders what he's done with his own spit-soaked fingers. He discovers soon enough, finds them pressed right against his prick, one spreading Robb's hole open just that little bit further.

 

_What am I doing?_ he wonders. He knows this is a bad idea. There's a reason that, despite the fact Robb _loves_ having two cocks in his arse at once, they don't do it very often. Namely, Robb loves it too much, and the first time they tried he screamed so loud Lady Catelyn came to knock on the door, asking if he was alright. It would have been hilarious if not for how aware Theon was that, if Robb's flustered denials couldn't make her go away, he could well get his head chopped off. She did go away, that night, but since then they've always been careful. Theon's not very good at careful. He looks to Jon, who usually stops him when he's about to do something stupid – when it involves Robb, anyway. But this time, Snow doesn't say anything. His cock is soft but his eyes are still dark with lust, and he just watches as Theon pries Robb open.

 

Theon considers that reason enough to blame him if this all goes wrong.

 

“Oh god, Theon, fuck, _yes_ ,” Robb moans as Theon breaches him, and Jon quickly slaps a hand over his mouth. _Oh, now you do something,_ Theon thinks but it's hard to hold a grudge, not with Robb shuddering like that around him. Robb and Jon share a look, warm and soft, as Theon fucks into Robb, and he gets oddly jealous. He wants Robb and his river-blue eyes to look at him like that. He doesn't, he can't really turn at the moment, but Jon _does_ and it does make Theon feel better.

 

_Perhaps I am overthinking this._ If he told Snow that, he would laugh, and say he didn't think Theon ever thought about anything at all.

 

Theon picks up his pace, bouncing Robb on his prick quickly, though not as quickly as he did before. Then he decides to add a second finger, and Robb moans and starts fucking himself quicker, clenching tight around Theon.

 

“You like that, Robb?” he asks, scissoring his fingers to spread him wider. Robb moans and pulls back from Jon's hand.

 

“ _More_ , Theon.”

 

Theon chuckles in his ear, his other hand wrapping back around Robb's prick, his thumb pushing his cheeks apart as far as he can (which isn't far). “Always more with you, isn't it?” he whispers. “Fucking insatiable. Sometimes I think you take us for granted, lordling.” Maybe he means it more than he should. “You wouldn't know what to do without us, would you? Without our cocks. We're the only ones who know. That the heir to Winterfell is just a desperate, needy, greedy, filthy _slut_ –”

 

Theon never gets to add 'more', to use his third finger, because Robb cries out and clenches tight and comes that moment. Theon fucks him through it, but slowly now, easing him down. He can't help but kiss Robb on the neck for reasons he can't quite explain. Softly, Jon threads a hand back through Robb's hair, petting him like a pup, and Robb leans into it with a gentle moan.

 

_Fuck, I love you,_ thinks Theon. _We love you, you little whore._

 

Theon slowly pulls his fingers out, but when he tries to lift Robb off his cock Robb grabs his thigh so tight he thinks it might bruise. “Don't you dare,” he says, warning – but somehow there's laughter in his voice. “You promised you'd come inside me.”

 

He looks to Snow, who just shrugs at him. He's gotten half-hard again however, which somewhat undermines his nonchalance. This could not be over for awhile yet. Theon thinks for a second, smiles, and pulls Robb tight against him.

 

It doesn't take long. He fucks Robb as roughly as he dares, cock pulsing as he hears him moan through the aftershocks, but he doesn't talk anymore. When he comes he bites Robb's skin to smother the noise. _I lasted longer than I expected to,_ he thinks with satisfaction, _and longer than either of them._

 

Robb sighs when Theon finally stills against him, and Theon wants to hold him close while he gets his breath back, but before he knows it Robb is gone, dropping to his side on the bed. Snow smiles as he follows, wrapping himself around his brother's back, kissing over bitemarks Theon left.

 

“You shouldn't just lie about like that,” Jon mumurs in his brother's ear. “If you don't want someone to have another go with you.”

 

“How do you know that's not exactly what I want?”

 

“I bet it is,” says Snow, almost smirking as Theon finally moves, laying at Robb's other side, face to face. “But we'll be late for dinner.”

 

“We can be late for dinner.”

 

This bickering is what Theon does, he should be part of their conversation, but he just can't think of anything to say right now. So instead he wears his usual smug grin, and reaches out with one hand, running his fingers through Robb's sweat-soaked curls. Robb opens one eye, peering at him curiously, and then smiles. Theon smiles back, for real this time.

 

Robb yawns. “Gods, I need a nap.”

 

Theon laughs. “Think we wore him out, Snow.”

 

Snow raises an eyebrow, but he's almost smiling as well (it is hard to tell with him). “I'm not sure you can wear him out, really.”

 

“Well we'll just have to find out.” Theon expects Robb to say _something_ , but he doesn't, and Theon soon realises its because he's fallen asleep. He sighs, running his hand through Robb's hair again. Jon moves his hand to do the same, and their fingers brush against one another. Neither of them moves. It's nice.

 

“You know, for an insatiable cum-drenched slut,” Theon drawls, “he's very cute.”

 

Snow laughs, really genuinely laughs, but then just looks at Theon. Suddenly Theon remembers it's not just Robb's face that Jon's come is drying on. He remembers Snow's prick was half-hard last time he saw it. “You shouldn't be so smug, Theon,” he says. “It'll be your night soon enough.”

 

Theon doesn't know what to say to that. So he doesn't say anything; he pretends to be asleep, pretends the thought doesn't make his cock twitch against Robb's hip, pretends it doesn't make him want to go take care of Jon's hard prick himself.

 


	2. Jon

Jon's _thing_ emerged slowly, or slower than Robb's did, in any case (although Robb's not too proud to admit his did not take much prying out of him). They'd settled into a routine, really, with Jon and Theon as eager to use Robb as he was to be used. It was a good routine, with Robb barely keeping himself from sneaking into their chambers more than twice a day, but he could tell that Jon and Theon were getting curious. They loved fucking him, but they weren't so sure what he got out of being fucked.

 

And, truth be told, Robb wasn't sure what he'd say if they ever asked. He was never embarrassed, all the times he begged to be fucked (he still isn't), but he thought he might be if he ever had to explain why. He could tell them something, about being the heir and having all these responsibilities, about having to be perfect all the time, and maybe he could tell them about just how nice it is to fucked on a big cock, until you can't think of anything else (except maybe your lady mother's face if she ever found out what you let your bastard brother and your ironborn hostage do to you) – but he'd never know if what he was telling them was the real reason. He doesn't know the real reason he likes being fucked so much, he just knows he does, and denying it is too much effort for too little reward compared to embracing it.

 

And so, with that stupid streak of impulsiveness Robb pretends he doesn't have, he decided he wouldn't tell them at all – he'd show them first.

 

Of course, Theon would never let him, so he figured he'd start with Jon and work Theon out later. Really, the hardest thing was keeping himself under control; feeling Jon's soft body and hard cock on top of him and not just spreading his legs like usual. But he managed it, pulling away to give a smirk, perhaps patterned a little too closely on Theon's. “Not tonight, brother.” Taking advantage of Jon's momentary confusion, spinning them so he was on top, was easy too.

 

“Robb, what are you–”

 

“Hush.” He was almost annoyed by how quickly from Robb-the-greedy-slut emerged Lord-Stark-the-heir, but needs must. “I want to show you something Jon. You and Theon both, but I thought I'd start with you.” Jon still looked confused, and when Robb met Theon's eye he looked even more confused. “You've made me feel so good,” he leant down, starting to cover Jon's face with kisses, “and I want to repay you. For all the times you've made me come so hard, I thought I might die. Let me do that for you, Jon, please.”

 

Jon gasped as Robb sucked at his neck, more softly than he would have liked himself. But he didn't want to scare Jon. “Robb...” He felt hands in his hair, a body pressing itself tight against him. “I'm not...”

 

He never finished that sentence, and Robb had to wonder what the end of it would have been. There weren't many protestations of virtue any of them could honestly make. “Jon,” he pulled back, staring into Jon's lust-blackened eyes, cupping his face with a palm. “I won't if you don't want me to,” he said, speaking not as heir or whore, but as Jon's brother. “You know I'd never hurt you.” Jon leaned into his touch, a soft sigh falling from his lips. Robb suddenly thought of things he should have thought of earlier, of Jon's bastardy, of all the snide comments about lust and who Jon's mother probably was and how apples don't fall far from trees. “There's nothing wrong with you, for wanting it.” _Nothing that's not also wrong with me._ “It feels good. Everyone wants to feel good,” he says, as Jon stares at him, looking strangely young – vulnerable even. “Do you want it, Jon?”

 

Jon hesitates a moment, then nods, blushing. “I do, just – just not like you.” Robb frowns in confusion, and Jon blushes deeper, pulling him close to whisper in his ear. “I don't want Greyjoy telling me what a whore I am the whole time.”

 

Despite the whisper, Theon clearly heard that, and snorted with derision. Robb silenced him with a glare. “Don't worry,” he said, keeping his eyes on Theon the whole time, voice low and stern as his father's. “If he says a thing, I'll punch him square in the jaw.”

 

“While you're fucking him?” Theon asked

 

“You should know by now, I'm very dextrous.”

 

None of them could repress a smile at that, not even Jon, and that seemed to settle the matter. Robb was slow and quiet as he took Jon, the complete opposite of what he would have done to himself, but it didn't matter – this was about what Jon wanted, and what he wanted was to wrap himself around Robb, gentle and needy as Robb had his body. Theon sat at some distance, just stroking his own cock in time. When Robb bothered to look at him, he thought Theon looked oddly nervous.

 

'Robb,” Jon whispered in his ear just as Robb was reaching a climax. “Robb, how does it feel?”

 

Theon snorted. “He's fucking your arse, Snow, how do you think it feels?”

 

Jon blushed and Robb glared. “Ignore him,” he assured Jon. “It feels good. You're so nice and tight. And warm. You've never done this before, have you?” Jon shook his head, and Robb felt a rush of heat run down his spine. Taking his brother's maidenhood appealed to him in a way he couldn't much make sense of. “I feel so good, Jon. You're making me feel like that, making me want to come inside you.” Jon moaned, body arching against Robb's, and Robb was half-tempted to do exactly what he just said if the thought appealed to Jon so much, but then Jon stopped him with a hand on his hip.

 

“Robb. Wait. Pull out a second.”

 

Robb was confused, but did so despite the cold and frustration. He watched as Jon rolled on his front, too shaky to try and keep himself upright. “Again,” he said, and Robb needed no encouragement before he pushed back in, taking that tight heat once more. Jon moaned, louder this time, and Robb wondered if that was the motivation for the whole change in angle – just that Jon thought it would feel better – but then Jon choked out a word. “Theon.”

 

Robb struggled not to laugh at how taken aback Theon looked. _Who, me?_ Robb could almost hear going through his head. “Theon, come here,” Jon practically begged. “Let me – with my mouth, please, I can. Let me.”

 

It didn't make that much sense, but Theon seemed to understand well enough. His mouth hung open, on the edge of a jape, but he seemed to think better of it. “...Are you sure?” he asked, more uncertain than Robb had ever heard him. Jon just nodded desperately, and Theon didn't take much persuading, crawling over so he could offer his hard and wet prick to Jon's pink lips. Jon swallowed it without another sound.

.

Robb could only stare in amazement as Jon took him from one end and Theon from another, but not the way he would have done, not frantic and debauched like he would have begged for. Jon sucked and bucked and they couldn't keep their hands off him, but they were gentle, even Theon, soft reassuring strokes while Jon did his best to make them come. “You're so good,” Robb cooed, fingers brushing Theon's in Jon's thick dark curls. “So generous. You just want to please us, is that it? Want to make us feel good? We love it Jon, it's so nice, we love you...”

 

Jon came with a sob.

 

* * *

 

It's warm, Robb thinks, and dark – he opens his eyes for a second and finds only the barest crack of light coming through the window; it can't be any later than five. He should curl back into the furs and go back to sleep, but Robb feels the night air brush against his skin and realises, the covers are gone. He's confused. _Why am I so warm?_ He opens his eyes properly now, not able to make sense of much in the dark, but eventually he looks down and sees something shifting. Tight dark curls swaying back and forth. Robb realises, belatedly, that the reason he's so warm is because Jon Snow has his mouth wrapped around his prick, sucking softly until Robb thinks he might burst.

 

He moans as his toes curl into the mattress. “Good morning, Jon,” he says. Jon pulls off to look at him, even if he can't possibly see much at that distance, in the dark. He keeps his cheek pressed to Robb's cock.

 

“...Good morning,” he says, hand wrapping around Robb to stroke him. “Did I wake you?”

 

Robb smiles. “Maybe,” he says, and arches into Jon's touch. “But really, I don't mind.”

 

He mostly imagines Jon's soft smile, but he knows it well by now. He reaches down and winds a hand through Jon's hair, smiling himself as Jon keens to the touch. “You were so hard,” Jon whispers, pressing delicate kisses along the length of his prick. “You were rutting against me in your sleep.” Robb moans and almost blushes, wondering how he even managed that after last night, when he can still feel sweat and come on the sheets that hasn't had time to dry. “I thought you'd like me to take care of it.”

 

Robb cries out when Jon sucks the head of his prick back between his lips, and then bites his lip as his mind comes back to him. He realises, as he looks around, they are in his chambers – Robb knows they shouldn't do this in his chambers, the biggest and most luxurious, but also the closest to the rest of the household, most likely for someone to hear, most likely for someone to come to knocking. But they'd all been half-drunk last night and just fallen together, unable to tell one another to stop (it must have been his night yesterday, he realises; it couldn't possibly have been Theon's).

 

He regrets that, sort of, but they seem to have been lucky enough – and now, well, Jon is always quiet, and at this hour the chances of anyone being awake to hear them are negligible. Robb sees no reason to stop.

 

“You weren't wrong,” he moans, gently thrusting deeper into Jon's mouth – he knows he should be careful, make sure Jon can take it, but Jon always can as long as he does it slowly. “Oh, _seven hells_...” he moans as Jon swallows him to the root, running his knuckles across the tightness of Robb's sack. “You're so good at this, Jon.” It's true, Jon has a natural talent for giving head that no-one able to explain the origins of, that Robb enjoys as much as he envies. Jon hums in pleasure as he says that, Robb's prick trembling at the back of his throat. Jon is always eager for praise. Robb thinks its a good thing he was so fucked out last night, else he'd never last.

 

It's hard to think with Jon swallowing him whole like that, and so it's not until Jon pulls back, hand around Robb as he licks and sucks and practically worships the tip, that Robb's mind clears a little. _Theon,_ he thinks, more curious than anything. He tilts his head to the side and sure enough, there's Theon, having taken the discarded covers all to himself. _Of course,_ thinks Robb, smiling with affection – Theon's never quite gotten used to the cold at Winterfell, as much as he pretends otherwise. Then Jon swallows him back down (perhaps he was jealous; Robb knows where his attention should be right now) and Robb cries out, loud.

 

Theon stirs. “What is it?” he mumbles, eyes still closed. He's always grumpy in the mornings, and Robb smiles wider before breaking into another vicious moan.

 

“ _Jon..._ ”

 

Well, he's half-answered the question. Theon's eyes pry open slowly, blinking at Robb's face as he writhes with pleasure. It takes a moment longer before he thinks to look down, and sees Jon hard at work. “Shit, Snow,” he mutters. “Couldn't wait 'til the sun came up?”

 

Jon makes a choked, embarrassed noise, and Robb glares. “Theon. My brother has been very generous with us this morning,” he says in his lord's voice, the one he knows makes Theon shiver, and sure enough it does. “I won't have you making fun of him.”

 

Robb gasps as Jon gives a pleased hum around his prick, but then Jon pulls off, leaving him cold. Robb looks down to see him smiling as he wraps his hand around Robb instead. Robb's not sure what message he's meant to take from this until Jon kisses one of his balls, sucks it into his mouth before moving over to the other one, keeping pace with his hand all the while. “Jon,” Robb moans as he tightens his grip on Jon's hair. “Oh, that's good. Do it again, _yes_.” Jon licks over Robb from his sack down to his tip, and Robb shudders as two fingers move and tease his hole, still wet and sore from last night. “It's feels so good Jon, I love it, I love you Jon.”

 

A quiet moan and Robb realises that wasn't him or Jon, but Theon, who's watching and biting his lip and, Robb can see from the way the covers move, touching himself. “Theon,” Robb says, “go light a candle.”

 

Theon's still not fully awake, so he blinks in confusion at that, and Robb grins. “I want to see him.”

 

It's Jon's turn to moan then, sucking Robb back down and just breaching him with the tip of one finger. Theon stares, then grumbles, pushing himself up and reaching for a bedside candle. He's still blinking himself awake. “If I accidentally set us all on fire, it's your fault Stark,” he complains.

 

Robb keens into the vacuum of Jon's mouth and thinks it'd be worth it.

 

Theon manages to light the candle without killing them all, and Robb just stares as the light flickers across Jon's face. His dark curls tossing back and forth as he bobs his head, his grey eyes gone black with lust. The candle's not much, but it'll do. “You're gorgeous, Jon,” he says.

 

“He's not wrong,” Theon shrugs, like it means nothing to him. Jon barely even looks at Theon. Robb wants to roll his eyes. Honestly, he has no idea what they'd do without him.

 

“Jon,” he whispers, moving his hand to stroke Jon's chin. Jon leans into it, like always. “Jon, do you want to get Theon off?”

 

Jon moans, and nods around Robb's cock. Robb smiles. Those two can snipe and jibe at each other as much as they like, but Robb knows them so well, and he loves to see them when the spite and bitterness fades away, when they kiss and suck and fuck like they can't get enough of each other, any more than Robb can get enough of them.

 

“Theon,” Robb gets his attention from where he's staring at Jon's sucking mouth. “Theon, what do you want Jon to do to you?”

 

Theon hesitates a moment. Robb thinks he's genuinely still deciding. “His legs,” he says after awhile. Robb frowns. That doesn't make a lot of sense. “Don't think we have much oil left, so I can't fuck him. I know Jon likes it gentle.” Robb frowns at Theon, warning – it's not a slight, but it could be if Theon pushed it any further. Luckily, Theon falls back with a sigh. “He has such lovely legs. So smooth and pale.” Robb can't help but smile. It's always nice when Theon starts going along with it, praising Jon the way Robb does. And he's not wrong; Jon's legs are gorgeous, soft flesh the colour of moonlight, slender with firm thighs, and long, very long. “I love his thighs,” Theon says. “I wanna fuck them. Jon, I want to press your pretty thighs together and fuck them until I come all down your legs. Would you like that?”

 

Jon moans once more around Robb's prick, and Robb might come if Jon keeps it up any longer and so Robb pulls him off, one hand around his jaw, the other petting his hair softly. Jon's lips are stained red and his eyes half-lidded with pleasure. “Well, Jon?” Robb whispers. “Would you like that? Would you like Theon's cock between your legs?”

 

Jon blushes – he always does – but nods eagerly. Robb grins. He's about to give Theon the go-ahead (he's not sure why _he_ has to give Theon the go ahead) when Jon stops him. “One second.”

 

Robb frowns in confusion, and his frown deepens when Jon pulls away from his touch. Jon gives him a shy smile, then rolls over onto his back, and Robb almost gasps at the sight of his body in the candlelight. _Seven hells_ , Robb thinks, staring at the tight muscle across his slender torso, his hairless chest begging to be kissed and bitten, the dark thatched curls that led to his prick. And Jon's prick – Jon is so lovely in his totality, but his prick is beautiful, the cherry on top. It isn't fat and meaty like Robb's, but long, slender, elegant somehow – just the right size to slide down Robb's throat, but now isn't the time to think of such things. Robb manages to look away long enough to see Theon staring, and almost smirks. Theon loves Jon's body as much as he does, and loves his prick somehow even more. He just doesn't find it so easy to admit it. He doesn't seem able to help himself right now, hand darting out to skim the muscles of Jon's chest. Jon shudders at the touch, and squirms as Theon's hand rests just above the dark hair surrounding his cock. Theon bites his lip. Robb knows he wants to touch it, wants to take Jon in hand and make him come, but he can't. Not yet, not tonight. Robb sighs.

 

“Robb,” Jon moans, still squirming. “Pass me a pillow?”

 

That shakes Robb and Theon out of their lust-filled hazes, Theon pulling his hand away like he's burnt, and Robb frowning in confusion. Robb considers just asking why Jon wants the pillow, but he thinks twice and no, it would probably be better if Jon showed him. He hands over a pillow.

 

It is simpler than he expects. Jon merely arches his hips so he can slide the pillow beneath, showing off that gorgeous cock as he does. His body keeps that arc, his head falling back on the mattress as he looks at Robb. He smiles, shy as a maiden. The sight takes Robb's breath away. “ _Pretty_ ,” Robb whispers, and blushes a little himself, embarrassed he can't be more eloquent. Jon seems to get the gist however.

 

Theon laughs. “You comfortable there, Snow?” Robb gives him another warning look, but this time Jon shakes his head at Robb, and turns to look at Theon himself.

 

“I'm fine. Though I'd be more comfortable with your prick between my legs.” He manages to say it without blushing. He hesitates before the next part, however, chewing his lip. “I wanted to see you. Both of you.”

 

_Oh Jon._ Robb wants to kiss him breathless, but this moment isn't for him, it's for Theon. Jon's never been afraid of how much he wants Robb, not really. Theon is different. Jon's always afraid Theon might laugh in his face and call him a whore, which maybe he would be less scared of if that wasn't exactly what Theon did to Robb every time. But Robb loves that too much to ever give it up, and so he makes it up in another way, keeping Theon under control, making it very clear that he will treat Jon with the respect he deserves or he won't get anything at all. In many ways, it's like being the heir of Winterfell again, keeping the peace between feuding vassals. Maybe he should resent having to wear his responsibilities in the bedroom as well, when usually this is the one place he can give them up, but he loves them too much to ever really mind. Besides, they'll just fuck it out of him later.

 

Really, Robb doesn't think Theon _wants_ to call Jon a whore. He likes saying it to Robb well enough, because Robb can take it, will beg him to say it again and again. Theon thinks they're all whores for what they do, but it's only Robb he lets out the shame and disgust on. Jon he kisses and fucks and _loves_ , Robb knows he loves him even if he'll never admit it, and when they're wrapped up in each other like that they both forget to be ashamed. Robb just has to make sure Theon doesn't get overwhelmed, doesn't hide behind his defenses and lash out at Jon. It's a lot of work, but it's worth it.

 

“Jon,” Theon sounds like he's choking on words he can't say, and so he moves, scurrying to the end of the bed so he can take Jon's legs in his hands, one thigh in each, and press them to Jon's chest. “Drowned God, you're... you're... _fuck..._ ”

 

“Easy, Theon,” Robb smiles at him, and Theon takes a deep, shuddering breath. Jon looks back, chews his lip as he stares into Robb's eyes. “You're so beautiful, Jon,” Robb whispers, because he knows Jon needs to hear it. “Theon, tell him how beautiful he is.”

 

Theon groans, deep and guttural, as he parts Jon's legs just the slightest bit so he can push his dripping prick between them. “Beautiful,” he gasps, and Jon shivers, clutching at the mattress with his hands. Robb's cock throbs at the sight of them tangled together, the head of Theon disappearing and reappearing between Jon's thighs. It suddenly occurs to Robb that he might like to come himself.

 

Jon knows him too well, and gives a soft cry. “Robb,” he pleads. “Robb, my mouth. I want to suck you, please.”

 

“Oh gods,” Robb whispers, crawling over before he even knows he's doing it. He has to cradle Jon's cheek first, feel him lean to the touch, every trace of sullenness or bitterness or envy gone. “I love you, Jon,” he says. Jon smiles.

 

“I know.”

 

Like that, Robb is back between Jon's lips, being sucked mercilessly, and he gasps for air. Jon takes him deep, deeper, _deeper._ Jon can take more of him like this, it seems, and Robb didn't know he had any more to give. _He'll gag_ , Robb thinks and tries to pull away, but Jon doesn't let him, his hands taking Robb's thighs and spreading them so he can get more. Robb can't see his eyes like this, only really his chin, and Robb bites his lip as he watches something drip from the corner of Jon's mouth. “So good,” he whispers, not even really talking to Jon anymore.

 

Someone moans, and Robb looks across to see Theon panting as he fucks between Jon's legs. Jon is pulling him close, urging him on with his feet, and Robb's not sure how long Theon will last. _Like I can talk_ , he thinks as Jon whimpers around him. He knows it won't be long, and he thinks Jon knows it too because all of a sudden he's sucking with a new urgency, Robb feels the a shiver running down his back and he has to bury his hands in the furs to stay upright, wanting to just fuck Jon's mouth but he won't, and he doesn't really have to, because's Jon's mouth is doing to him everything he could do to it and more, and it's rare Jon can actually leave him speechless but here they are.

 

Fingers. Jon's fingers are back, they've travelled the length of Robb's thighs and are inside him now, and it's not really fair that Robb's still slick enough for this if Jon isn't, but Robb can't bring himself to protest, can't do anything but ride them eagerly and he's had his turn, this is meant to be about what Jon wants but apparently Jon wants to do this for him and gods, Robb loves him _so_ much–

 

He comes with a groan, hands suddenly clutching at Jon's hair rougher than he'd like. He lets go as soon as he thinks of it, while he's still coming, but Jon barely seems to notice while he's sucking Robb's seed from him. Robb hears are frantic collection of curses and a wild moan, and looks down just in time to see Theon spill between Jon's thighs, most of it rolling down Jon's legs but some of it splashing onto his stomach and even across his own prick. The sight gives Robb one hell of an aftershock, though that might be Jon's mouth still desperate for whatever it can get.

 

Robb eventually softens and becomes a bit sensitive, pulls away from Jon with an apologetic flinch. His mouth makes an obscene _pop_ and a drop of come dribbles across his cheek and onto the bed, but Jon doesn't move to spit, nor, as far as Robb can tell, does he swallow. He looks down at Jon for a moment, waiting for him to do something, and Jon looks up at him with eyes wide and adoring. Then, Robb barely gets the signal. Jon smiles – as much as he can with a mouth full of come, anyway – and daringly, teasingly, raises an eyebrow.

 

_Oh._ Robb can't help but grin. “You spoil me.”

 

He pulls back and leans over, kisses Jon square on the mouth. It's a little awkward, kissing from different directions like this, but that's not really the point. Robb moans as Jon opens his mouth and pushes as much come as he can between Robb's lips.

 

“Fuck.” Robb can't help but smile at Theon's reaction, and the seed starts spilling between him and Jon. He can't bring himself to mind though. He pulls back, and starts licking it all off Jon's chin. Really, it's not as nice when it's his own come, but he appreciates the gesture and isn't going to mention it to Jon.

 

Eventually, he backs up onto his knees and looks over Jon, curls soaked with sweat and eyes closed in pleasure, trembling slightly against the cold. _He's still hard_ , Robb realises, eyeing that perfect prick, and he wants to go do something about it but he realises Theon is eyeing it too. Theon can't help but stare at his own work, Jon's shaking legs coated with his come, but he doesn't look smug about it for once. Instead he just stares like he _wants_ in a way he can't make sense of or put words too, or even remember to be ashamed of. _Oh Theon._

 

Robb thinks it over, and decides it's worth taking a little bit of a risk. He's sure Jon won't mind.

 

“Theon.” Theon's snaps toward his face, and then he looks away again just as quickly. Robb sighs, and slowly lowers himself onto all fours, crawling over Jon's body. His cock twitches as he feels Jon's panting breaths over it, but he knows he won't be able to get it up again. Pity. Still, not what he's here for. Theon's still averting his eyes, smirking at nothing as if he's practising how. Robb sighs in irritation. That won't do. He stops once his head is between Jon's legs. “Theon, look at me.”

 

Theon hesitates, but does so, wearing that smug look like he's trying to get it wiped off. “It's not your night, Theon,” Robb reminds him. “Stop that.”

 

The smugness fades, and Theon looks away again. “ _Theon_.” He knows he has to keep Theon's gaze for this, it's very important. Beneath him, Jon whimpers. Robb smiles and leans forward, and in one long slow movement, licks Theon's come from Jon's thigh.

 

He tries not to smirk himself as they both gasp.

 

_It tastes good_ , he thinks, another twitch in his prick, but this isn't for him – he keeps his eyes on Theon as he works, cleaning Jon's legs thoroughly. Once he's done, he pulls back, and he waits. (It's not Theon's night. He can't do anything but wait).

 

He doesn't wait long.

 

He gasps himself as he finds out of Theon's strong hands in his hair as he kisses roughly, fiercely, desperately. He's not chasing the taste exactly, but something else, and Robb gives it to him as best as he can. _This is meant to be Jon's night_ , he reminds himself, but Jon so likes pleasing them and, if this goes as Robb hopes, it should end well for him.

 

Theon pulls back and just stares at Robb, as if he's asking what to do next. Theon is the oldest of them, and yet sometimes he seems so young. Robb smiles at him, and then indicates Jon's cock with his eyes.

 

Theon flushes, but he doesn't hesitate as long as Robb expects.

 

Jon cries out desperately as Theon swallows him down, and Robb immediately winds a hand through Theon's hair to keep him under control. Jon shakes and trembles and moans, and Theon scrunches his eyes shut. Robb strokes his hair gently, making sure he stays calm. Still, he can't help but stare at Theon looking so _eager._ It's not like this on Theon's night. Robb appreciates that, but he's always sort of regretted it too.

 

“Robb, Robb,” Jon cries out, and Robb snaps out of his reverie. _It's meant to be his night._ Alright, he does sometimes struggle balancing the two of them. Theon doesn't look like he's about to panic, and so Robb lets go and crawls off Jon's body, winding himself around his brother's side.

 

“Are you alright, Jon?” he asks, gently kissing along Jon's neck. Jon moans, and nods, keening into Theon's mouth.

 

“Theon,” Jon chokes, and Robb starts to panic slightly, “are you–”

 

“Shh.” Robb presses a finger to Jon's mouth to keep him quiet. He _knows_ Jon wants to hear that Theon's enjoying this, that's all he wants, to know he's good and Robb and Theon love everything he does, everything they do to him. But he also knows that's the last thing Theon wants to have to say right now. _I should have thought this through better_ , he thinks, guilty, and leans into Jon to try and rectify the situation. “He likes it, I promise you he likes it,” he whispers, one hand snaking across Jon's chest, rubbing his nipples gently – Jon whimpers at that – and the other going to Theon, making sure he's alright. Theon's slowed, slightly, but he hasn't stopped. “You've got such a lovely cock, Jon,” Robb says. “What man could resist it?”

 

“ _Theon_ ,” Jon moans. “I'm going to – I'm gonna come–”

 

Theon pulls off before Robb can say anything, and when he looks down Theon is wearing one of his smirks. _Oh no._

 

“Then come,” Theon says simply. “You look great when you do.”

 

And then he swallows Jon back down.

 

When Jon cries out and spills, Robb swears he's as relieved as Jon is.

 

Theon grimaces and pulls away, spitting out as soon as he reasonably can. _Bit of a waste,_ Robb thinks ruefully, but he doesn't blame Theon – he doesn't want to push him. Robb quickly swipes in, wrapping his hand around Jon and wringing out the last drops. “That's it Jon, come for us, you pretty little thing, come, we love you...”

 

Jon finishes with a final moan, and slumps against Robb's shoulder. Robb smiles as he pulls his brother in closer. “Good?” Jon croaks, then coughs. “I mean, was it good?”

 

Robb grins and nods. “Very good. Very, very good.”

 

He looks down at Theon, still panting and trying to recover his wits. He grins again, but it doesn't worry Robb so much this time. It seems softer this time, and Theon presses a gentle kiss to Jon's shoulder as he makes his way back up the bed. “Fucking amazing is what it was,” he mutters, settling in behind Jon, and Robb sees how Jon's smile spreads.

 

“It did seem like you enjoyed yourself,” Jon teases, and Robb half-expects Theon to bristle, but he just laughs.

 

“Might have done, Snow, just a bit.” Robb can tell he's still embarrassed, but he can live with it now. Robb smiles at him over Jon's shoulder, and Theon smiles back.

 

Jon yawns. “We should get some sleep.” Robb squints. The sun has basically risen while they were busy, and it can't be long until breakfast. “We'll have to get back to our rooms soon, Theon. Maybe doing this at this hour was a bad idea.”

 

“And whose idea was that, I wonder?”

 

“You two,” Robb rolls his eyes as he pulls himself upward to blow out the candle. “Honestly, what would you do without me?”

 

They don't answer, and when he sits back down he sees them curled in one another's arms, drifting off to sleep. He sighs. Honestly, without him they'd probably be fine. But he wraps himself around Jon's other side anyway, and feels Theon reach out to stroke his hair. He's glad he'll never have to find out.

 


	3. Theon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, the final chapter, probably the least self-indulgent one and yet the one I'm most nervous about. If you enjoyed the previous two chapters but this one squicks you, that's cool, I totally understand. But this does end with fluff so, y'know, it's not all bad.

Theon's _thing_ is stupid, and dangerous, and it took them months to figure out and Jon still sometimes hates himself for going along with it. He really wishes he could resent Theon more for it.

 

Robb and Jon took their turns, Jon being pleased and petted and told what a good boy he was, and Robb just being fucked like the most desperate slut alive (although if Jon's entirely honest, sometimes he thinks Robb _is_ the most desperate slut alive). They enjoyed themselves, and Greyjoy enjoyed them both immensely. Jon wasn't as annoyed with him as he always used to be. He expected Theon to be a problem when he wanted it, that Greyjoy couldn't help but making snide remarks about how much he liked it and how much reassurance he needed over liking it, about how desperate he was for love that he'd take it from any angle. But Theon didn't do that. Probably just because he didn't want to get in trouble with Robb, and he wasn't forthcoming with words of love and praise and acceptance, but that was okay – Jon wanted those more from Robb, the trueborn Stark heir, than he did from Theon. Theon was there as another body to please, just to prove he could, to prove he was good at it and it was worth keeping him for his mouth and his arse at least (sometimes Jon still flushes when he thinks about how needy he is). Theon never seemed to want to complain.

 

Soon there wasn't much left to get annoyed with Greyjoy over. Except the nights when Robb managed not to get distracted, and remembered he'd never quite finished his plan. The nights Theon tried to flip him onto his back, and Robb refused, keep him pinned underneath. “Not tonight, Greyjoy,” he would say, voice so stern and low and lordly (Gods forgive him – just like father's) it made Jon moan.

 

It didn't have the same effect on Theon. He just glared. “Get off me, Stark,” he said, still smirking, and he bristled when Robb's hands moved down, grabbing his thighs to spread them. “I mean it. I'm not a–”

 

That made Jon laugh. Greyjoy had been buggering them both for months, but the thought he could deny being a pervert just because he was never the one taking it? Maybe things were different on the Iron Islands, but Jon would like to see Greyjoy try and explain that one to Lady Catelyn.

 

Still, Robb always let it go. Jon asked Robb once, after Theon had fallen asleep, why he didn't press the issue. Robb shrugged. “If he says no, what can I do? Maybe he just doesn't like it the way we do. Maybe he's tried.” Jon bit his lip. Theon was so much more experienced than the two of them combined, and sometimes he wondered if that made Robb insecure. “I'm not going to force him, Jon.”

 

“I wasn't–” Jon didn't really finish that sentence, but the thought stayed with him. Of _course_ they'd never force him. That went without saying. But god, Jon wanted Theon to let them. He got so sick of Theon, his smarmy grin and snide remarks, and what he would have given to see the man gasping and breathless, humiliated, but begging for more. Theon would like it, he was sure. And Jon would know he liked it. Even if Greyjoy wasn't as much trouble in bed as Jon feared, Jon was never quite comfortable knowing that Theon knew what he was like, knew how vulnerable he could be, how needy, and not the reverse. Jon wanted to know. He wanted to know what it was like when Theon cried because it felt too good.

 

He tried once. Theon had been distracted, buried deep inside a moaning, writhing Robb, and on a whim Jon had slid one sweat-soaked finger into him without warning. Theon gasped, loudly, and Jon smirked as he felt him shudder. “You like that, Greyjoy?” he'd leaned in to whisper in Theon's ear. “I bet you do. I bet you want more, don't you?”

 

Theon moaned, and Jon grinned like he'd won, but then Theon shook his head. “No,” said Theon, sounding far more serious than usual. “Stop it, Snow.”

 

Jon had huffed with irritation, but had done as Theon said. Then Robb started clawing and asking to be kissed, and to be fucked harder, and they'd both forgotten the whole thing.

 

Figuring it out was more a matter of luck than anything. Arya had begged Jon and Robb to give her archery lessons, and neither of them could ever deny her. They thought that would take awhile, but Lady Stark had caught them, told Arya she was meant to be with the Septas and sent her on her way. Jon assumed he would be in trouble (something Robb would be all too willing to let him work out his frustration over later), but instead Lady Stark just glared at him and went on her way. Leaving Jon and Robb with nothing to do.

 

When they made their way back to Jon's chambers, he honestly half-expected Theon to be there, waiting for them. And he was there, but Jon couldn't have expected how he wasn't going to wait. Robb gaped silently, and Jon quickly closed the door as quietly as he could, letting the sound be buried under Theon's frantic moans, lest anyone see this. Jon might not like Greyjoy much but he wasn't going to let that happen.

 

On the bed lay proud Theon Greyjoy, future lord of the Iron Islands, on his front with his face buried in the pillows and his arse high in the air. Jon and Robb could only watch as Theon fucked himself with one hand, three fingers thrusting into his hole rough and fast, moaning all the while. Jon couldn't help but smirk. _Like a bitch in heat,_ he thought. _No wonder he always knows what to say to Robb._

 

Robb almost opened his mouth to say something, but Jon raised a hand to stop him. He knew it wasn't honourable, watching Theon like this without him knowing, but he doubted Greyjoy would have any moral compunctions if their positions were reversed. Jon couldn't let Robb announce their presence, not yet. He needed to know. He needed to know how Theon liked it. He needed to know what it was like when Greyjoy wasn't too fucking proud to tell them what he wanted.

 

Truth be told, Jon didn't know what he was waiting for. Perhaps to see if Theon would moan their names, and if so, whose name he would moan first? (Robb's. Of course it would be Robb''s). But Jon was surprised by Theon moaning something else entirely. The word was small, muffled against the sheets. “No.”

 

Robb and Jon frowned at one another in confusion, confirming they'd heard the same thing. _Perhaps we were both mistaken?_ But Theon went on. “Don't. Please.” His voice was weak, and it almost sounded like he was sobbing. Jon hated how tight his breeches became at that moment.

 

They could only watch as Theon lifted his hips so he could wrap his other hand around his prick, and then fucked himself to completion, begging himself to stop all the while. When he came, he moaned as loud as Robb, and as pitifully as Jon.

 

Jon wanted to pin him down and fuck his brains out.

 

For awhile Robb and Jon just kept standing there, barely daring to breathe while Theon recovered his wits. They couldn't run, not now. Theon gave a heavy sigh and pushed himself up, and Snow could see him wiping tears from his face. _Oh gods._ Theon turned around, and gaped when he saw them. Jon expected him to be angry – although probably in that smug Theon way of his – but he didn't seem capable of anything but shock. They were caught, but, Jon realised, so was he. “You–” Theon choked, voice still hoarse. “What are you doing here?!”

 

“These are my chambers, Theon,” Jon said, eager to claim whatever part of the moral high ground he could, even if it wasn't much. “What were you doing here?”

 

Then, something Jon never expected happened. Theon _blushed_. He turned bright red, staring down at Jon's furs in shame. “I wasn't–” he said, and Jon felt like he could burst. _Gods forgive me, I like him like this._

 

“You were fucking yourself.” Jon found himself pacing across the room, sitting across from Theon on the bed. Robb stayed at the doorway, watching. “How often do you do that, Theon? Do you think about us? Is that why you were doing it in my chambers? Did you think if we found you like that, we'd just take you before you even had to think about what you were doing?”

 

Greyjoy scowled. “No,” he spat, and Jon laughed.

 

“You were saying that with your fingers up your arse, too.”

 

“Jon.” He turned and looked at Robb, still hard in his breeches, but eyes cold and assessing the situation. Now it was Jon's turn to flush with shame. Things had been about to get out of hand, he realised, because Jon found himself liking Theon in this state too much – his tears and his blush, so unlike the man who had tormented him from years. _Don't lose control of yourself_ , Jon thought, looking to Robb. Robb always had to keep control of the situation, even now, making sure Jon wanting to fuck Theon and Theon wanting to be fucked wouldn't end in a fucking neither of them liked. “Theon, it's alright,” Robb said slowly. Theon did not look at him. “We're not judging you. We just want to know. Do you want it, Theon?”

 

“Fuck off, Stark.”

 

Robb sighed in frustration and for a moment, he and Jon just looked at each other. _Well, now what do we do?_

* * *

Robb gets too eager, which shouldn't surprise anyone, and ends up sucking Jon off in forgotten corner of one of the corridors. Jon shouldn't let him; even if no-one really comes this way, if they did, there would be no hiding it. But Jon can't bring himself to say no, not tonight. He's been hard since supper, when Theon grabbed his thigh under the table and whispered “I think it's my turn tonight, Snow,” smirking all the while. As if he didn't know what _his turn_ meant. Jon's not even really thinking of Robb as he folds his hands into his auburn curls, pushing him down, but he doesn't think Robb will mind – Robb's not jealous like Jon and Theon tend to be, and is usually pleased when Jon and Theon focus more on each other than they do on him. Robb is Robb; really he just wants everyone to get along. So Jon doesn't bother hiding it when he groans as he comes, “ _Theon_.”

 

Perhaps it's not Robb who's too eager.

 

Robb sucks him dry and cleans him with his tongue, which is efficient, if also what Robb probably would have wanted to do anyway. Robb grins up at him once he's done. “Yeah,” he says, voice soft and hoarse. “Should we go find him? He must be ready by now.”

 

Jon sighs and nods, offering Robb a hand to help him up. Really, he's not sure why they give Theon so long to 'get ready' _._ Jon's not sure what he spends that time doing. Panicking, probably. Jon redoes his breeches, even if they won't stay that way for long, and looks idly at the hardness in Robb's. _Oh Theon. This won't be an easy night._

 

(Jon's not sure there ever is an easy night for Theon, but anyway.)

 

It always makes him feel strange, Robb leading him to his own chambers like they're both intruders. It's the wisest choice; Jon's rooms are the furthest away from everything, and they really _can't_ be caught on Theon's nights. Father would have both their heads before they managed to explain it. And Jon knows Theon needs them to come to him, he can't just follow them after dinner like he doesn't know exactly what's about to happen. He needs the space. He needs to breathe. He needs to get into character.

 

Jon supposes that's why it takes so long for him to 'get ready'.

 

He lets Robb knock on the door, and there's a moment of hesitation before the voice comes. “Come in.” It sounds soft, nervous, shy. It doesn't sound like Theon at all.

 

But Theon it is, a sheen of sweat across his brow, and Jon knows he's been pacing. There's a glass of wine on his table, but it doesn't look like Theon's drunk much of it – good. Jon remembers the first time they tried this, Theon got so drunk trying to make himself go through with it. So then they couldn't go through with it: Robb refused, telling Theon there was no way in hell they'd do this if he wasn't in his right mind. That night they'd all just held each other, Theon not really able to protest, and in the morning Jon let them share him while Theon fought his hangover and Robb promised they would figure it out next time.

 

Jon's glad that won't happen tonight. He's too eager and he really _wants_ to do this, even if he feels a little sick with himself for it.

 

Theon fixes them both with his usual smug smirk, even as his eyes dart about wildly. “Oh hello you two,” he says. “I was just looking at your things, Snow. Not much, is it?” he laughs, and surely he knows he doesn't need to bait Jon, but he does it anyway. “Do you want something?”

 

 _I want to choke you on my cock, Lord Greyjoy._ Jon shudders. It always frightens him a little, just how much he likes doing this to Theon. He doesn't think it frightens Robb the same way, which he resents as much as he appreciates. Robb actually likes Theon, and Jon doesn't always know how he can bring himself to go through with this, but Jon needs his presence. Jon needs to know that Robb's there, Robb knows what he's doing, and Robb will stop him if he goes too far.

 

Jon lets Robb answer the question. He always does. “I wanted to see you, Theon. We both did,” he says slowly, creeping forward like a predator. Jon stays behind, minding the door even after he locks it – _you lock the door when you do this to Robb too,_ he reminds himself. Theon stills as Robb approaches him. “Why did you come here, if you didn't want to see us?”

 

“Robb–” Theon shudders as Robb's hands grab him by the hips, pulling him close. Jon knows Theon does want this, he knows why they do it, he remembers that other time Theon got drunk. It had been weeks since the incident where they caught him fingering himself, and he had refused to talk about it until he came to them that night, smashed out of his mind and on the edge of tears. And he'd told them. He told them how much he wanted it, how good it seemed, how jealous he was every time he managed to make them scream in pleasure. How sometimes all he wanted to do was throw himself at them and beg for it, but every time he tried all he could think about was his father, what he would think, and his dead brothers and the Ironborn and all the rest of it; they were meant to be warriors, reavers, men, and he couldn't just lie down and _let_ them, even if he wanted nothing more.

 

And he begged. That night, he begged for them to just _take_ him, get sick of all his teasing and throw him to the floor, have their way so no matter what he said, or did, they would fuck him until he couldn't think of anything anymore. Jon had been shocked, so had Robb, but Jon couldn't pretend the thought didn't send lust rushing down his spine as much as shame.

 

Theon whimpers as Robb seizes his neck with teeth, frozen still and catching Jon's eye across the room. Weakly, he tries to shove Robb away. “Robb, stop,” he whines, and despite himself Jon smirks. _You can do better than that, Greyjoy._ “What are you doing?”

 

Robb laughs. “You know what I'm doing.” Then he pulls away, grabs the back of Theon's neck, pressing almost hard enough to bruise, and pulls him into a kiss.

 

Theon squeaks in protest and starts hitting Robb's chest with his fists, trying to pull away, but Jon knows he could if he wanted to. He holds his breath, feeling himself harden in his breeches, even when he's still wet from Robb's mouth. He groans as he watches Theon bite Robb's lip viciously. They don't usually bother kissing Theon in the middle of this, it's just too much work, but the sight of it is so good right now.

 

Blood drips from Robb's mouth but he doesn't seem to mind. _How are we going to explain that?_ Jon wonders. “I'm going to do exactly what you want me too,” Robb whispers in Theon's ear and Theon shudders. “I'm going to fuck you into the furs.”

 

Jon can't help himself; his hand darts to his cock to stroke himself through the fabric. He thinks Theon should be laughing at his eagerness, but he's not, too distracted with Robb's threats and promises. “Robb don't–” he chokes, cutting off when Robb's teeth return to his neck. Jon can't see much, but he can tell Robb's hands are starting to wander, and when one disappears between the two bodies he assumes it's because Robb his reaching for Theon's cock, hot and eager. “Robb!”

 

“That's it, Theon. Moan my name.” Moan Theon does, though not a name, and it's pitiful and a little too loud. Jon starts to worry. _Is he not liking it? Is it too much?_ Robb usually knows how far to push, but still. Jon catches Theon's eye over Robb's shoulder, waiting for a sign. Theon shivers, and as subtly as he can, reaches down and squeezes Robb's thigh, just the once. Jon sighs with relief.

 

Robb and Jon didn't really know what to _do_ with Theon's confession, and Theon couldn't even bring himself to talk about it, and so after weeks of confusion and frustration Robb suggested the one thing Theon always recommended when Robb had a question about sex he himself couldn't answer (whenever he admitted there was anything about sex he didn't know): go to the brothel and ask Ros. That had been one of the more uncomfortable conversations of Jon's life, given how his last, first and only previous meeting with the woman had turned out, but Robb had done most of the talking and Ros had been incredibly professional about the whole thing, pretending she didn't know exactly who they were talking about. Anyway, she had told them it wasn't so uncommon, and there were ways to do it safely – codewords and secret signals, that sort of thing.

 

The pinches themselves had been Theon's idea, once Robb and Jon came back to him and told him all they learnt, since he thought he wouldn't always be able to bring himself to speak, and Jon had realised that plenty often he physically wouldn't be able to speak. It's a simple system. Three means _stop_ , though they also have a word for that, _ice_ , because if there is one thing that would make them all want to stop this, it's the thought of Ned Stark's sword. Two means it's too much, they need to slow down, but he still wants it, just not that hard. Two doesn't happen very often.

 

But one – one means _go._ One means _more_. One means _please._

 

“On the bed, Greyjoy,” Snow finds himself snarling, still against the door and with no way of making it happen. “On the bed.”

 

“No,” Theon snaps and Robb _growls_ , teeth buried once more in his neck, and then he just pushes.

 

If it was a fair fight, Jon couldn't be entirely sure who would win, but it's not a fair fight because it's not really a fight at all and so Theon falls onto the bed with the illusion of a struggle, but not a real one. For a moment, he just lays there flabbergasted, before he remembers he should try and escape and Robb stops him with strong hands on his shoulders. Jon can't help but walk closer, wanting to see, but still half-afraid of what he'll do when he gets there.

 

He can't really see Robb's face, but when he speaks Jon thinks he's smirking. “Roll over, Theon.”

 

He can see Theon spit at him. “Make me, Stark.”

 

Robb does. It doesn't take long until Theon's face is buried in the furs, Robb pulling his arse up to grind against it, Theon giving a little cry of – pleasure? fear? both? – and Jon groans, suddenly darting across the room to sit by Theon's head because as much as he loves Robb's body, the thought of not being able to see Theon right now is unbearable.

 

Robb grins at him and Theon almost raises his head, but before he can Jon seizes his hair with one hand and forces him back to the covers. Jon always wants to see when it's his night, he likes to watch as Robb and Theon fall apart with pleasure, he likes to know _he_ made them do that. Theon is the exact opposite. He likes it like this, face down and arse up, so he doesn't have to see, doesn't have to know what they're doing to him, can only feel the pleasure of it crashing over him like an ocean wave. _He's more ironborn than he thinks_ comes to mind at the exact same time as _even like this he's selfish._ It's a cruel thought, but it's a cruelty he can use, a cruelty Theon will thank him for later.

 

“Now, Theon, listen to me,” says Robb, stern and lord-like and god, his _voice,_ it makes Jon shiver all over and want to spread his legs and beg, and he's glad Theon can't see. _This is the man who was sucking my cock like a whore half an hour ago_ , he reminds himself but it doesn't really help. All it does is draw his attention to Robb's prick, rock hard as he forces it against Theon, and god Robb didn't even come before like he did, how desperate must he be? Jon half-worries he'll have to remind Robb that even like this, he can't just fuck Theon first thing, he needs to be prepared. “You're going to lie there and be good, and we're going to fuck you like a bitch in heat, alright?”

 

Theon mumbles something into the covers, probably a refusal or a curse, but it doesn't really matter, and Jon feels two fingers grab his thigh and pinch. He gasps, Robb grins, and he starts tearing at his breeches desperately. Robb does something similar, but for Theon's breeches, not his own. He doesn't even bother to unlace them, and Jon thinks Theon will kill him after if they tear.

 

A strange smell fills the air as Theon's exposed, half-floral, half-fruity. Theon whimpers between them and Robb gapes, and suddenly Jon knows. Even if he didn't, the sight of Robb driving one finger straight into Theon with no resistance, not even a sound but a choked groan, would tell him.

 

“Whore,” Robb mutters and Jon can't help but agree, at least right now. “Waiting for us, were you? Getting yourself ready?”

 

Theon shakes his head frantically but cries out as Robb's finger pushes deeper, rubbing back and forth ruthlessly, until Theon whimpers helplessly with pleasure. Jon reaches for his own cock. Theon doesn't usually prepare while he's 'getting ready', usually he waits for them get there and to do it for him. But tonight, apparently, he couldn't wait. _He must be desperate for it,_ Jon thinks, and the thought is enough to make him pull on Theon's hair, yanking him up to face him.

 

The tears have started. _Seven hells._ Jon's cock throbs at the sight, like it always does, and he kind of hates himself for it. He's pretty sure Robb only plays this game so he can give Theon what he needs. But Jon, Jon can't help himself – the sight of Theon Greyjoy crying and begging does something to him.

 

Theon glares at him with eyes blown wide with lust. _He should join a mummer's troupe,_ Jon thinks, knowing none of this would be such a problem (and he probably wouldn't enjoy it so) if Theon wasn't such a good actor. His mouth hangs open, but he can't think of much to say. Instead he just tugs Theon closer, offering himself to his mouth. “Suck.”

 

Talking is always Robb and Theon's thing, when they can, sharing their filthiest fantasies with one another – because really, they're the same fantasies, all shame and degradation and filth, even if Robb greets them with an eager moan and Theon with rage and denial. The only difference is pain. Theon likes it, Robb doesn't. And Jon, well Jon wouldn't feel so guilty if he liked any of it – if he let them do the same awful dirty things to him as he does to them, as they do to each other. But Jon's not like that, he can't be, he needs soft touches and loving kisses and reassurance. If they tried to treat him like they treat each other, he'd fall apart.

 

Even over this, Robb is always trying to reassure him, telling him it's _good_ he likes what they do to Theon, that he knows Jon would never take it too far.

 

Jon is snapped out of his reverie when he realises Theon Greyjoy is swallowing him whole, gagging around his length, and Robb is smirking as he buries his hand in Theon's hair and pushes him down further. “That's right, Theon. Show him how much you like it.”

 

Theon sobs, squirms, shuts his eyes, but doesn't try and pull away. Jon can't help but keen into his wet mouth, only getting harder at the sound of his pathetic spluttering. Robb folds his hand over Jon's in Theon's hair, comfortingly. Then he fixes Jon with a look, soft and concerned, saying something like: _He's alright. Are you?_

 

Jon thinks this over. He's used the word before, with Theon bruised and battered and on his knees before him, and the sight was too much and Jon just panicked. But he doesn't want to do that tonight, not when he wants it so badly, not when _Theon_ wants it so badly.

 

He nods. Robb smiles, and lets go.

 

Jon pulls Theon down and holds him there for a second, feeling him choke and scratch at Jon's thighs, clawing for air, but it's not a pinch of any number and so Jon lets go soon. Robb laughs. “Go on, you can take it,” he whispers, and Theon shivers between them. “And if not, well, you'll just have to practice.”

 

Jon groans. Theon isn't really as practised at giving head as they are, since he usually prefers the sensation of being fucked. Jon acknowledges he's unusual because sometimes he likes getting them off with his mouth more than anything that might get him off as well (Robb, bless him, doesn't really seem to see the difference). But it's not like he never does it, and like he never gets off on it; Jon still remembers that time Theon told them he was going to wait for him in that cottage he found, and once they got there he had tied one hand to the bed and blindfolded himself (Jon still has no idea how he did that, even though Theon has offered to show him). He just sucked them off that night, switching from one prick to another until he got dizzy, and until he came in his breeches like a virgin. Jon supposes _what_ they do to Theon is less important than how they do it, keeping him held down and protesting, so he can pretend it's not his fault and let himself enjoy it.

 

Theon's starting to lose himself, eyes still closed but a soft look passing across his face, and he's starting to work a little harder on Jon's cock – bobbing his head, running his tongue over the tip – without being told. Jon represses the urge to smirk. He shouldn't be ungrateful.

 

Suddenly Theon gasps and pulls off before Jon can think to stop him. He looks up, confused, and realises Robb has thrust straight in, taking advantage of Theon's preparation. _That must hurt_ , he thinks, and the tears do seem to fall faster down Theon's face. “Robb,” he moans, voice sore and broken, “stop.”

 

Robb pauses like he's considering this. “No, I don't think I will.” He thrusts into Theon _hard_ and Theon yelps, and Jon can see how his cock pulses at the movement. “I think I'll fuck you as long as I like, Theon, and you won't do a thing to stop me. I think I'll leave you dripping with my come and so sore you can barely walk. Jon too, if he can last that long, and if not well, you'll just have to swallow his come like a good slut. Would you like that Theon?”

 

Theon shakes his head but Jon sees him squirming up against Robb. “Robb, it hurts–”

 

_Smack!_

 

Jon jumps and Theon mewls. Robb didn't hit him hard, Jon doesn't even see any redness on his arse, but it was enough to shock them both. “Aye, and it'll hurt worse before I'm done with you,” Robb whispers, and Theon shivers against him. “And it'll be even worse if you're not good about it. But maybe that's what you want, hey? You've always seemed to get off when it hurts.”

 

Theon whimpers as Robb moves a hand in front of him, taking Theon's cock and stroking it softly, teasingly. Theon can't help but keen for more when Robb lets go, and Robb chuckles at his desperation, but pauses, suddenly looking at Jon for something. What, Jon couldn't say.

 

He realises he is meant to be participating in this, his hand is still in Theon's hair, and so he yanks to get his attention back. “Theon,” he says and somehow all his questions come out in the word. _Are you okay? Is this good? Why do you let us do these things to you?_

 

Jon could swear Theon smiles at him, just for a second. Then he reaches over with a shaking hand, and gives Jon one pinch. Jon takes a deep breath, looks up, and gives Robb a nod.

 

Then he yanks Theon's hair again, harder. “You were in the middle of something.”

 

Theon chokes again as Jon thrusts straight down his throat, and Robb immediately sets a punishing pace, the slap of skin against skin loud enough it's almost worrying, as are Theon's muffled cries around Jon's prick. But Jon can't bring himself to try and stop anything, except maybe it's an excuse to gag Theon some more. Robb is hissing and cursing as he thrusts, and for a second Jon's distracted by the sight of his body, all tight red curls and firm muscle rippling under pressure, but Theon's desperate moans earn his attention again pretty quickly. Spit is dripping down his chin, mingling with Jon's precome and his own tears, and god, he looks debauched, and Jon pulls frantically at his hair just to hear him whimper in pain – it's all too good, too much, and if Theon enjoys this half as much as Jon does then Jon has no idea how he's lasted this long.

 

“Fuck, Theon,” Robb groans, and Jon remembers getting sucked off earlier; how long can Robb possibly last? “Look at you, such a little whore for it.” Jon bites his lip so as not to laugh, given who's talking. “We can do whatever we'd like to you and you just get to lie there and love it. You do love it, don't you? Is this what you thought about when you were taken away? That once you were a prisoner anyone could use you for their pleasure, that all of Winterfell could fuck you if they liked? What do they call them on your islands, saltwives? Is that what you are, Theon?”

 

“Robb.” Jon gives his best warning glare, which isn't as good as Robb's (especially not with Theon's mouth still wrapped around his prick), but he tries. Theon stiffens under the assault of the words. Jon remembers the last time Theon used his word, not just the pinches, a couple of months ago now. It was Jon who let his mouth run away with him that night, caught up in anger and lust – he and Theon had had a fight in the armoury earlier that day – until Jon was talking about how he wouldn't say a word to anyone, that the hostage wouldn't dare speak against Ned Stark's sons, because what would happen to him if he tried? And when Theon cried out, he sounded genuinely terrified. Jon _hated_ himself at that moment, forgot the fight and every fight he'd ever had with Theon, every time he'd ever disliked him for anything, could do nothing but pull him close and kiss him all over and tell him how sorry he was, how he didn't mean it. He might even have said he loved him. He might even have meant it. But that night taught Jon something very important – most things are fair game for Theon, but why he's here is not. That's the one thing that just leaves Theon too scared to enjoy it.

 

Jon feels two pinches on his thigh, and shakes his head at Robb. Robb looks down, shamefaced, then tries something else. “You don't fool me Theon,” he says, thrusting in harder, faster, and Jon does the same so he can hear the sounds Theon makes. “You with all your whores, you chasing after the kitchen wenches, all your boasting about just how many girls you can make spread their legs for you...” Of course, Theon's not done that in awhile, though not because Robb and Jon have demanded fidelity but because he just hasn't had the time, “...when really, you're the one who likes spreading his legs. You like it like this, don't you? On your hands and knees for a big cock, doesn't even matter who's it is, does it? Keeps you up at night, thinking of getting fucked like a bitch. What would you do without us?”

 

Theon moans, shakes, and suddenly gives a violent cry, thrusting himself back onto Robb's cock helplessly. Jon doesn't understand for a second and then sees Theon spilling into the sheets, sobbing as his prick keens pitifully in the air, searching for friction and finding nothing. Jon moans as his cock throbs deep in Theon's throat. _Gods, we didn't even have to touch him._

 

He pulls back, giving Theon's tearful face a careful look. Robb pauses, sweat-drenched and panting, practically shaking with how close he is. They might have to stop now. It doesn't happen often, and usually when it does it's on nights rougher than this, but sometimes after Theon comes it gets too much for him and he can't take anymore, Robb and Jon have to finish each other off instead. But Theon looks up, eyes still brimming with tears, and pinches Jon once more.

 

“You fucking whore,” Jon whispers at him.

 

Theon whimpers.

 

Robb grins.

 

Just like that, they're back to their previous rhythm like nothing even happened, like Theon's barely even there, just a hole for their pleasure. He's still moaning, desperately oversensitive as he's used between them. “You like it,” Robb declares. “Doesn't matter what we do to you, how much you protest, any of it. You keep coming back for more. You can't help yourself. You're hooked, Greyjoy.”

 

And then Robb buries himself and stills, eyes squeezing shut as he gasps in pleasure. _He's coming_ , Jon thinks. Really, it's remarkable he held out as long as he did. His body shakes with the force of it and that tremble spreads into Theon, and then to Jon, until he's quivering and grasping Theon's hair in desperation, aching with need, aching to come.

 

Robb finishes with a sigh and pulls himself out of Theon, wet and exhausted. For some reason he can't explain, Jon does the same.

 

Theon looks up at him, confused and, though he tries to hide it, disappointed. Jon can't help but smirk at him. “Sorry Theon,” he mutters, taking himself in hand so he can trail his tip along Theon's lips teasingly. Theon flinches. “Were you enjoying that?” He moves, leaving a line of precome across Theon's cheek as he slowly taunts him.

 

“No.”

 

“Liar.” The tears have stopped now, replaced with a look of rage that Theon's a little too far gone to pull off. But no matter. “You want me to fuck you now, don't you?” he asks, and Theon shakes his head furiously. Robb holds his breath. “Want me to fuck your little hole, make you really not able to walk tomorrow.”

 

Theon gives another whimper. Jon grins. “But I'm not going to do that,” he says, finally pushing himself back between Theon's lips, just the tip this time. “I like your mouth better. Inevitable, isn't it? All your smarmy grins, snide remarks, all the _bastards_ and _whoresons_ and the rest of it. It's just to bait me, isn't it? Well then, I've been baited. Show me that mouth's good for something after all.”

 

Theon squirms like he might pull away, but Jon catches him with a hand before he can. “ _Suck it, Greyjoy._ ” Because suddenly it's not enough just to fuck his throat, no, he wants to make Theon work for it. He wants to make Theon use his tongue and his lips and his hands until he _earns_ Jon's come. He's going to make Theon act like he loves it. “Suck it, and then you're going to swallow every last drop.”

 

A moan, and Theon sets to work, taking Jon deeper in his mouth, not deep enough to gag, but still. Jon shudders at the feel of him, rough and shaky, but eager – maybe he's telling himself he's just trying to get it over with? Suddenly he feels hands on his thighs, spreading his legs wider, and then Jon feels them reaching up and stroking his shaft, curling beneath his balls, spurring him on. “Yeah, that's right,” Jon whispers, more to himself than anything, unable not to rock his hips back and forth. He catches Robb's eye above Theon's shoulder, and smirks. “You like my cock, don't you Greyjoy? You're always staring at it. Well now you can get a very close look.”

 

Theon groans, eyes blown wide and looking up at Jon, almost _worshipful_. Gods, Jon really does like him like this. Robb gives an irritated huff. “He liked my cock just plenty if the way he came says anything.”

 

Jon laughs. “Jealous, Stark?” It's rare that happens.

 

Robb smiles. “Maybe a little, Snow,” he says. “Luckily I'm still very fond of you.”

 

Theon suddenly takes him all the way to the back of his throat, and Jon gasps helplessly. He has to cough and collect himself, sliding back into character. “What, weren't we paying you enough attention?” Theon's like that, wants all their attention at all times, but his only answer is a soft cry. Jon fists his hair once more and pushes him down. “Alright then. Take it all the way, and then _every drop_.”

 

A final desperate noise and Jon feels the vibration from Theon's mouth travel all the way up his spine. _Seven hells–_ and then it's done, Jon comes in Theon's mouth with a moan as pitiful as any of Theon's. Theon squirms and mewls in protest, but won't stop _sucking_ , and Jon only buries himself deeper as the pleasure's wrung out of him. “Go on, swallow,” he mutters, and he feels Theon gulping greedily even as he cringes at the taste.

 

He takes a deep breath and finally pulls out, backing up against the headboard to give Theon space. Robb is still on his knees behind them, waiting patiently. For a long moment Theon just lies there, wrecked and teary-eyed, until he gives a deep groan and rolls onto his back. Jon starts returning to his regular self, meaning he frowns in worry. “Theon? Are you alright?”

 

Theon gives a dazed nod, which Jon isn't entirely certain of as an answer. So he moves down and curls around Theon's side, noting he doesn't flinch, and gently cups his jaw with one hand. “Theon?”

 

Theon looks at him, and then smiles. It's not his usual smile, wild and smug. It's something softer, more hesitant, more honest. The way he smiles at Robb, most of the time. Jon feels his pulse race at the sight of it, and then Theon kisses him.

 

He shouldn't be so surprised, given this happens every time. He and Theon don't kiss often, but they always do on Theon's night, when they both need it. Theon needs to come down, back to reality where Jon and Robb are his friends and his lovers and would never hurt him. Jon needs Theon to tell him he's fine, that they _didn't_ hurt him, and this is the easiest way for Theon to do it. And yet, it always catches Jon unawares, just how soft and yielding Theon can be beneath him. Jon thinks he needs this as much as he needs the sex, and their vicious, violent game – Theon wants it rough and dirty like Robb, but he also wants it gentle and loving like Jon, and more than anything he wants to pretend he doesn't want any of it. Jon tries to resent him for it, but he doesn't, he never can.

 

Perhaps _that's_ the most frightening part of Theon's nights: not the thought he might go too far, not the thought Theon might get hurt, not even the thought they might get caught. But what comes after, when Jon and Theon wrap themselves up in one another, Jon desperate to be sure Theon's okay, Theon desperate to tell him he is. They can't hide anything like this, no ducking behind snide remarks and sullen frowns. They can't afford to. Here, they care about each other, nothing less. He can imagine Robb's face as he watches them kiss, equal parts relief, affection and smug victory. Lucky he's not jealous.

 

Jon pulls away and sees Robb over Theon's other shoulder, smiling at him. Yeah, that's the face he imagined.

 

“Wasn't too rough with you, was I?” Robb asks, kissing gently over the bitemarks on Theon's neck. Theon laughs, sounding more like himself now.

 

“Nah. Honestly, when you first came in and I felt how hard you were, I thought I was in for a lot worse. You wear him out or something Snow?”

 

Jon laughs. “Still don't think you can wear him out,” he teases. “Honestly, I thought he might wear me out. I just got him all worked up for you, letting him suck my cock in the corridors.”

 

Robb gives a soft moan at the memory, and Theon grins, turning to look at him. “Fucking insatiable, aren't you?”

 

“Yes, and?” Robb asks. “You don't want me to change.”

 

Theon shrugs. _Fair enough,_ he seems to say.

 

Jon sighs and curls in closer, pressing his lips to the nape of Theon's neck. “I like doing this to you,” he murmurs, and then stops, wondering if he shouldn't have said that.

 

“I noticed,” Theon says with a smile, then turns to kiss him again. _I like it too,_ he seems to say, even if he can't quite force the words past his lips yet.

 

Robb makes an irritated noise. “Hey, where are my kisses?”

 

Theon laughs as he breaks away. “See what I mean? Insatiable.” But he kisses Robb as well, who grins into his mouth.

 

Jon would like to kiss Robb himself, but he can't quite reach, so instead he settles for threading a hand through his hair. Robb sighs contentedly, and as Theon pulls back to breath he turns and kisses Jon's wrist. Jon shivers slightly. “So lucky to have you,” Robb murmurs. “Both of you.”

 

“Quite agree,” Theon says with characteristic boldness, smug enough Jon almost doesn't realise what he's saying. When he does, he can't help but blush. Theon raises an eyebrow at him, taunting, and Jon somehow scowls fondly (alright, he's just pouting).

 

“Fuck off, Greyjoy,” he says, and Theon laughs and kisses him again (and Robb makes more annoyed sounds). Jon can't help but think he quite agrees too.

 


End file.
